


This way you still owe me

by beanarie



Series: Entropy [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Pre-Slash, talking things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: So fine. This is happening. He hadn't envisioned it going down in public with Creed and Bush playing on speaker, but life is a rich tapestry.
Relationships: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Series: Entropy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890100
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	This way you still owe me

Six days since Neal spent the second worst night of Peter's life almost dying on an operating table. Four since he woke up in intensive care and recognized the person standing next to his bed. Three since he confessed to El that faking his death was the only way he knew to protect his friends from a newly incarcerated team of crime lords looking for revenge. And two since his response to the FBI's offer of witness protection was a middle finger and a brief but articulate profanity.

Then there's today, with Neal perched upright on the edge of the bed as he flips through his discharge summary. Peter can tell exactly when he's reached the list of antibiotics and follow up appointments by the grimace. If the ambulance had been two minutes later, he would have lost at least one kidney and maybe his life, so a couple of horse pills and visits to the nephrologist are a small price to pay, as far as Peter is concerned.

With his free hand, Neal plays with his phone and Peter can't help a momentary sneer as he turns to face the door. Recently Neal has been texting every ten minutes, whether Peter is home, at the office, or in the damn room with him. 

_Not dead yet_

_Cape Verde's so beautiful this time of year. What was the name of that travel agency I had to visit for that case?_

_kidding about the travel agency_

_96% sure I pulled a job with the aide who brought me my dinner today_

_Still here_

_You're not gonna paint the nursery blue, are you? That's a bit pedestrian even for you._

_Wonder how Lauren Cruz is doing. Remember how you said you'd give her my number?_  
[That never happened.]  
Clearly, otherwise she would've called. 

_Just woke up. In the same place. From which I have not left._

_Still here_

_make that 99% sure_

_Still here_

_Haven't left_

Aside from the nonsense about Agent Cruz, which Peter could not let slide, he has steadfastly ignored the content of every single text and only commented a running tally to highlight how ridiculous Neal is being. A talent for annoying the crap out of each other has brought out the worst in them of late. El said it would be hilarious if she didn't want to lock them both in a root cellar.

El is finding a lot of her favorite foods have the capacity to betray her. Continual bouts of indigestion have pushed her sense of humor slightly out of reach, so she isn't having it. Peter can't help wondering if stress from this week had a hand in her symptoms. 

At the sensation of something solid thumping into his back, Peter knows that Neal's forehead is now treating him like an occasionally sentient wall. In direct contrast to how much they've been pissing each other off, they've been very... touchy. Affectionate. Far moreso than usual. The physical boundaries they used to make some attempt to maintain outside moments of imminent death have yet to be reinforced. It's weird but 1. Neal's weird, and 2. it doesn't feel wrong.

His phone chimes and here's another thing Peter knows. It's not Elizabeth. 

_According to this, I'm legally obligated to notify the surgeon general every third time I sneeze._

"That's eighty-two," Peter says, putting his phone back in his pocket. He doesn't look back. Neal has barely moved. He didn't write all that just now. Those sticky fingers typed it out and left it unsent in preparation for this moment. 

Peter clears his throat to warn Neal he's going to turn around again so the other man doesn't tip over when the load-bearing structure disappears. Neal straightens up marginally, blinking at the floor. Peter's hand goes to the side of his head, helping hold it up. It just looks so heavy. "Tired?"

Neal hums. "Probably help if I ate something. I wasn't on the list for lunch because they thought I'd be out by now. Breakfast was a long time ago."

"It's four PM." i. e. _why didn't you say something?_

"Hunger is only a problem when you're conscious. And I'm not hungry, exactly."

Several options here. He can go demand something from a nurse, buy one of those processed fruit smoothies (slightly thicker juice) from a vending machine, run downstairs to the Au Bon Pain and get a sandwich, or they can stop somewhere when they're actually out. Long experience has Peter assume if he leaves this room that's when they'll come to finish processing and Neal will end up having to wait anyway. "What are we even waiting for right now?"

"Like they tell me anything."

Peter frowns at the extremely static and unopened door. "Lay down a minute," he says. "I'll be right back."

Very politely, he flags down a nurse, who flags down a social worker, who tells him they were having trouble reaching the car service to send Neal home. 

"I'm the ride home," Peter says, pointing at himself to further prove his existence. "I've been here this entire time."

They look at each other and apologize and promise someone will be in to check Neal's vitals one last time, then he can go. Peter nods and thanks them. They're doing their best.

The nurse ends up making Neal essentially shotgun two little containers of applesauce and a small bottle of OJ before pronouncing him man and exit door. So he's a little brighter and bushy-tailed on their way out, but it isn't nearly enough. Peter meanders a few blocks until he finds a fire department themed pub. "What the hell, right?"

Neal looks mildly amused and that's as good an endorsement as Peter is likely to get. 

He dials Elizabeth as they enter the cramped entryway to ask if she wants anything. 

" _Well, I'd *like* four cheese ravioli, a chicken parm hero, or a giant pizza with sausage, mushrooms, and green peppers._ "

"What should I bring you instead?"

She sighs miserably. " _Club soda?_ "

"Oh, hon."

" _I'm okay. Maybe a salad, if they have one of those fruity ones. Just no tomatoes._ "

Peter draws himself up, the very picture of a noble hero, even though Elizabeth can't see it and Neal has started smirking. "I will find you a decent fruity salad if I have to uncover Jimmy Hoffa to do it." 

" _That would probably take a while. I was hoping to see you in time for Wheel of Fortune._ "

"Oh, that's not a problem at all. We're headed home right after this."

Peter says his goodbyes and looks up. Neal's expression is stormy. "We?"

The server, a middle-aged strawberry blond named Sondra who gives off the impression she was born in this building and Peter and Neal are friends of the family who stop by twice a year, busts in to tell them the specials, butternut squash soup and pulled pork sliders. Right off the bat Peter asks for El's tomato-less salad to go because he anticipates A Conversation that could make it slip his mind in the very near future and he'd prefer not to forget any request made by his pregnant wife. After he orders the sliders for himself and Neal orders a grilled chicken wrap, she sashays off, slightly disappointed that neither of them are drinking. 

Peter jumps in with both feet. "What are your choices, Neal?"

"There has to be at least one that doesn't involve leading hitmen to your home."

So fine. This is happening. He hadn't envisioned it going down in public with Creed and Bush playing on speaker, but life is a rich tapestry. "Leading them to June is acceptable though?" Neal scowls. "Look. You declined witsec. It's gonna be a couple weeks before you're back on your feet. You're staying. And you're better off sharing a roof with a trained FBI agent than a seventy-six year old widow, said widow's ability to kick my ass notwithstanding."

"There are any number of ways for me to get June out of the house." 

So he'd be alone. Magnificent idea that definitely wouldn't lead to him getting tossed off that exquisite balcony. "No one tried anything this week when all they needed was to get past one guard outside your door. Keeping the panthers in isolation is working."

"One guard and you," Neal points out.

Sondra brings their iced teas and a basket of potato wedges. "On the house," she says with a friendly wink. "Blue Eyes over there needs a little more sustenance than a sandwich wrap." 

Neal favors her with a weary but more genuine shadow of his dazzle 'em with bullshit smile. It gets the job done. She giggles like a schoolgirl and leans in slightly to tell Peter, "You better watch this one."

"I intend to." Peter grins, taking a wedge. "Eat up, Blue Eyes."

Under the low lights of pub, Neal looks vaguely green. 

Peter's hand gravitates to Neal's forearm. "Hey."

"If any of you get hurt because of me..." Neal swallows heavily. 

Peter squeezes his arm. "You are my partner and you were doing your goddamn job. I'm not leaving you out to dry." He lets go to dump some ketchup into the basket, creating a little pool. "Anyway, if you're in danger then so am I, remember? I went undercover, too." 

"You were secondary. I was the one who betrayed them."

"Even still, they'd have to go through me to get to you. Feels like either way we're both marked." 

Sondra drops off the sliders, the chicken wrap, and a bag with Elizabeth's salad. Before leaving, she looks into the basket of potato wedges and gives Neal a stern look. 

After his faint smile drops, Neal looks troubled, a little confused, and still far too pale. "Peter, you can't possibly think this is wise. You have a _family_."

 _Of which you are an important part. Dumbass._ "Neal, eat something before you pass out and I have to carry you right back to the hospital."


End file.
